Help me not
by happykid
Summary: It’s all wrong, everything. He wouldn’t possibly tie a thick rope around his neck and vault off the roof in those graceful leaps he so often executed, with no respect for physics or gravity or any form of science.


Disclaimer: Oh sure. Rub it in, why don't ya? (I don't own. Sniffles.)

Moi Musings: KuroFye, Yayness! And my first, no less. Rated for Kuro-pin's terribly foullanguage. And he's not even speaking out loud, for goodness sake.

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_Help._

He's shocked, can't speak, can't think, can't comprehend any damn thing.

_Help._

He's hanging from the roof, damnit, fucking hanging from the roof.

He doesn't know why that stupid idiot is up on the roof, can't comprehend, can't understand, can't speak, can't think.

He hears, he sees.

But he can't, possibly, think.

_Help._

He's choking, he can't breathe and he can't think.

His heart is pounding.

And he's hanging from the roof. He watches,

and can't comprehend why he's suddenly rooted to the ground.

_Help._

He's not dead yet.

But he's dying. He's suffocating, choking, his eyes are wide with shock and terror and fear.

The rope is around his neck, god knows how it got around his neck or why it's around his neck. But it's there, and it's choking him and he's gasping and grasping the noose like his lifeline.

_Help._

He can't understand what the fuck is happening. He can't understand why the fuck it's happening either. He can't really breathe, it's as though the rope is around his neck instead and he can't really breathe.

But there's no noose to be his lifeline.

_Help._

Everything was fine. An hour ago, half an hour ago, twenty minutes ago, fifteen, ten, nine, eight, seven, six.

Then it happened.

"_Kurogane! Kurogane! Come, quickly!"_

It felt weird to hear the manjuu call him by actual name.

_It was then that he realized something had to be wrong. _He just didn't really believe it.

"_Kurogane! Hurry, hurry, hurry!"_

"_What, damnit? Go call the damned wizard instead."_

"_No, it's Fye, it's Fye! He's fallen from the roof and"_

He's looks as though he might die.

_Help._

He's dangling; the last petal from a withered rose, waiting to fall,

down,

down,

down.

Paler than he should look. Eyes wide open with that scared, terrified look.

**i'mgoingtodiediediediediediedienoidon'twanttodiehelppleasehelp. **

_Help._

It's all wrong, everything. He wouldn't allow himself to be so careless, wouldn't possibly tie a thick rope around his neck and vault off the roof in those graceful leaps he so often executed, with no respect for physics or gravity or any form of science.

(Magic is supposedly an advanced type of science. The mage used to wrinkle his nose when he said that.

Made him feel old, he said. Like some fuddy-duddy scientist with _big_ glasses, ne, Kuro-pon?)

_Help._

He'd be better off without the aggravations. Without the stupid suffixes to his name that made no sense at _all_, and no blatant annoyances either. No stupid tanrinpuupipi at the back of his name instead of just plain Kuro_gane_. No clinging, no hugging, no teasing, no stupid, annoying, damned mage.

He doesn't know how he'd survive.

_Help._

He's running now. Running like mad and yelling all – _all_– the profanities he can think of. He's running, he doesn't know how he's going to save him but he fucking will, he doesn't care about the clinging, the squealing and the stupid suffixes he'll regret later. Now he's just going to save that stupid, annoying, damned, bastard wizard.

And he's running.

_Help. Wait. No. Don't help._

It's in slow-motion. Every damnstupidannoyingfucking thing.

The flaxen-haired man touches his foot to the wall of the house of their host. He pushes, gently, tiptoed. He leaps. Defies gravity again. On the roof now, removing the noose, slowly, like an almost-striptease.

And he watches. Mouth open. Best imitation of a fish.

And Fye smiles, that great bigblinding-light haha-I-just-tricked-silly-Kuropon smile. He leaps off the roof, landing to the ground as smoothly and gently like a cat, nine lives and all. He smiles again. Whispers in the ninja's ear.

"Ne, Kuro-tan, you really care for lil' ole moi, no?"

Fish imitation. Mouth open, mouth close.

The manjuu is laughing and giggling and talking about his great 108 secret skills.

And the wizard grins again, turns his back on the dark-haired man, and slips off, the white bun buzzing away happily on his head.

He can't speak, can't think, can't comprehend any damn thing. But he will, two and a half minutes or so later, and he's going to kill the bloody mage.

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WOOHOO! Now how's that for a twist, Sherlock?

Review. Mokona'll show you one of his 108 super-secret skills if you do.


End file.
